


My honour

by zoeandthemist



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-18
Updated: 2021-03-23
Packaged: 2021-03-27 19:02:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,979
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30127413
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zoeandthemist/pseuds/zoeandthemist
Summary: This is Mithian's account of 'Another's Sorrow' (not entirely accurate to episode), as she struggles with her wish to save her father and to protect King Arthur. Mithian must find a way to do both, all the while she learns more of the much feared Morgana, and begins to wonder if she is all that she seems. I would appreciate any comments or feedback, this is my first piece of writing here :).
Relationships: Mithian/Morgana (Merlin)





	1. Chapter 1

I am Princess Mithian of Nemeth, and if I cannot save my life, I will at least defend my honour.

When Morgana came, all I can really remember is is my father’s face. I knew of his bravery, his victories; no birthday celebration could pass without a mention of the way he would stare death in the face and simply brandish his great sword and yell. But when faced with her all I saw was utter terror. Perhaps it was the rough hands that twisted his daughter’s arm, her screams of anguish. Perhaps it was his own mortality, though I imagine he would deny it.

I didn’t realise what I had agreed to until he was dragged out of view, but by that point I was immobilised, every muscle clenched, every nerve shot ice; I could find nothing within me to fight with.

So I am to lead the King Arthur to his death. The mention of his name brings whispers of good, of change and of freedom, people start talking like… . I can recall his kindness now, his confident, gentle touch and trusting eyes, a clear kind of blue that made you want to pour in the deepest secrets of your heart. The worst part was that he would make it so easy. It would be like snipping the stem of a daisy, just about to bloom. His death would be so sweet, so tragic.

I can’t let this happen.

WE HAVE BEEN ON THE ROAD FOR DAYS, BUT IT FEELS LIKE YEARS.

Morgana hardly speaks to me, but every time I make a noise I see her tense up and eye me intently. She stares more than anything, and I stare back. I am quite determined not to be a damsel in distress, not to give her the satisfaction of seeing me in pain. 

I made a run for it one night- crept away in the dead of night when the guards were dozing off. It was a short pursuit, I quickly felt an immersive force full me back, as if the world had turned around and I was plummeting down a cliff face. I landed painfully, pierced by hard roots at Morgana’s feet. She coldly ordered me to stand, panickingly grabbing my wrist and hoisting me up.

We both sat by the fire that night, she had put the guards into a sort of trance, and as they slept they melted into the ground, as if it were just her and me, just two women in the forest. She looked pensively into the flames, eyes glassy and lips pursed. She held her head high and shoulders back, I noted, the way I had been trained to. I had never really spoken to someone, a woman like me, but I thought then that she must have been through much the same as me. It’s something you can see in someone, in the way they speak, or hold themselves. I pictured her as she must have been in Camelot, in a silk dress that sat limply against her shoulders, her lips red with berries and life. I wondered if that’s what she was chasing, whether it was not Camelot she really wanted, nor power or revenge, but she wanted her life back? 

It was a while before she spoke. 

“When we arrive at the castle, you will not speak to anyone unless directly to Arthur.” She talked steadily. I gritted my teeth.

“You will plead with him, cry that he needs to come with you to come save your father and lead him into the forest.”

“ How will I know where to go?” I replied curtly. Here she smirked.  
“I will lead you.” She glanced at my cautiously confused face. “I will be disguised as your maid, Hilda.” I exhaled incredulously. “No need to worry,” her lip curled again, “nobody will recognise me. All that I need from you is… a cry for help. I trust you will be able to muster something up.”

My nostrils flared in anger. I was angry that she had seen me so weakly, so pathetically try and flee from her, try to ward her off with a cold stare and even cry out for my father. I needed to undermine her plans, but I also needed her to see my strength.

THE CASTLE HAD REMAINED MUCH THE SAME, IT STOOD, TALL AND BEAUTIFUL, BUT THAT FEELING OF SAFETY AND KINSHIP WAS OUT OF REACH TO ME NOW. 

I had been shocked at Morgana’s transformation. She has transfigured into an old woman, with deep wrinkles and wiry hair. She had pulled her battered black cloak so that is shaded her face, at first I assumed it was a precaution, a lack of faith in her disguise, but as we walked into the castle and she hunched up even more and eyed the place uneasily, it struck me that she was anxious, not of her being found, but of the castle itself.

Before we were in sight of the castle, Morgana fixed two steel bracelets to my wrists, muttering some incantation over them, her eyes wide and intense; these were my shackles I supposed, though she would not tell me what they were really for.

In King Arthur’s greeting, there was nothing but genuine concern and care. I wept like a child as I fed him the half-truths of the attack on Nemeth, and as I pleaded him to come and find my father as Morgana had concocted, I searched through his painfully earnest eyes, desperately trying to make him see that this wasn’t me, that something was wrong, that I didn’t even believe my father to be alive.

“We will do everything we can to help you to save your father.” Arthur spoke calmly. And so he planted his feet firmly on the course Morgana had planned for him. I looked to the other court members, and noticed Queen Guinevere for the first time. How I had not marked her before I do not understand, for she was the picture of queendom. Her features were dark and striking, the sleeves her deep red gown trailed on the ground behind her. Could this be the ‘blacksmith’s daughter’ Arthur had turned me down for all those years ago? Even had she been, I felt no hostility towards her, just a sadness that I had exiled myself from her world, her world that was soon to be toppled.

“LOCK THE DOOR” MORGANA SAID COARSELY, STILL IN HER DISGUISE.

I reluctantly did her bidding and as I turned she was already transforming back. I was bewitched as her form shifted, like the reflection of a face in rippling water and then collapsed weakly into a chair. 

“You are worn from using your magic?” I was surprised, I knew little of the practice of magic.

“Ageing 60 years in a minute is hardly going to be easy is it?” She replied, sharply. In spite of myself, I laughed. She eyed me, surprised by my reaction as I was.

“You ought to get some rest.” She said blankly as she looked away.

I knew Morgana wouldn’t leave me tonight, but if I could prevent us from even leaving Camelot, I had to try.

I changed into my nightdress and slipped into the bed carefully. I could feel her eyes on me as she sat at the table, but it did not take long before she surrendered and slumped into the chair, fast asleep. My heart beat frantically as I crept towards her, like a rabbit to a sleeping fox and I gently picked up the key beneath her fingers, replacing it with my comb. Before I turned to leave, my eyes fell on her face. There was something so vulnerable here, curled up with her dress hanging limply on her body. Her brows were furrowed, and I could not help but pity her, alone as she was. She probably hadn’t visited the castle in years, to her it’s a distant memory of a time long passed. A time when she had a family, when she was trusted, loved. Curiously, I reached out my hand, wanting to touch her pale pink lips, slightly parted. I wanted to fall into her, into her mind and try to understand her. How does an admired lady, a beloved daughter turn into someone so bitter and lowly, into a witch?

There was some secret written on her face, something in the rough skin and slightly flared nostrils, but I could not decipher it. So I slid out the room and set out to tell someone, anyone.

I tip-toed about the corridors, desperately hoping that I could stop this before it was too late. Where were the celebrated knights of Camelot now? I used to lament the countless guards that peopled any castle’s corridors, wordless and inhuman, but now I needed them.

I had not been walking for five minutes when suddenly I felt a searing pain around my wrists and let out a strangled cry. It kept burning, and I fell to the cold stone floor desperately trying to remove the burning metal that encased me wrists. Then, the pain dissipated and I looked up, feeling the presence of someone across the long hall. The moonlight fell not on the haggard face of Hilda that I anticipated, but on the wide-eyed face of Merlin, Arthur’s manservant. I felt a rush of hope to my heart- how had I not thought of him before? Of course Merlin was the answer! Arthur’s most loyal servant- more than a servant. I had felt the trust and strong bond that existed between them when first we met- then it had been my enemy, now it could be my saviour. 

“Princess Mithian?” He sounded quite as surprised as I was, but no sooner had I opened my mouth than I heard the hoarse croak of my fabricated guardian.

“She is quite alright.” Said Hilda, firmly grasping my arm and raising me to my feet.

I felt crushed, I had been so close for a minute. I gazed pleadingly at Merlin, hoping to convey another message as I collected myself and excused that “I just needed some fresh air.” Sure enough, I watched as he lowered his head, eyes flickering between me and Hilda suspiciously. I may not have won this round, I thought as we turned back to our chambers, but now I had a plan. All I needed to do was alert Merlin without Morgana noticing, then we could put this messy business to an end. Somehow.

MORGANA’S GRIP REMAINED FIRM ABOUT MY ARM AS SHE DROVE ME BACK TO OUR CHAMBERS.

She was lucky there were no guards about, as I could see her mask slipping away with each step.

Finally, we entered the room, and then with surprising strength, she pushed me up against the wall. I clenched my jaw and drew my arms, still throbbing, up to my chest. I was not so frightened of her any more, there was something about Merlin that felt so strong and endless, as if the world around him depended on him. He had a quiet influence over the court, something you could sense in the air all around.

Morgana’s piercing eyes were scolding me as she walked towards me, but instead of inflicting more pain, she did something quite different. 

She muttered something and the bracelets slid off my wrists, revealing the angry red flesh underneath, I inhaled sharply and looked away, and saw something like shock in her face. In a new, softer manner she let my wrists rest on her palms, and shut her eyes. The spell she used came out like a song. The unintelligible lyrics swept over my skin like the small lapping waves in a bath tub, washing away the red imprints left by the bracelet and I felt the coolness of her palms soothe the heat there. Eventually her voice trailed off and she looked back up in me inquisitively, as if asking if I felt better. I exhaled and unclenched my jaw, relaxed my muscles. During the course of the spell, we must have drifted closer together as I now felt her body pressed up against mine. I felt a comfort in the sensation of her thigh touching mine, and I allowed my hands to brush against the sides of her body, trace the curve of her hips as I dropped them.

She must have seen the fear flash across my eyes as I realised the risk I had just taken, but she smiled and softly, then slowly drew her hand up my body, at which it felt as though every nerve in my body rushed to the surface to that I felt my skin tingle, until it rested on the side of my neck, her long, cool fingers gently stroking below my ear. My rabbit heart was awoken again, I wondered if she could feel the fierce beating, and I leaned my head a little so it came closer to her hand.

Carefully, she pushed her chest against mine, I could feel the softness of her breasts against me and she put her check against mine, flesh against flesh. My hand had risen of its own accord and clutched at her thick, dark hair. In a low and musical voice, as though she were still incanting a spell, she whispered into my ear; “I hope you don’t think it will really be that easy.”.


	2. Chapter 2

SHE MUST HAVE CHARMED ME AGAIN TO PUT ME ASLEEP, BECAUSE THAT WAS ALL I REMEMBERED.

When I awoke, it was her blurry face that was before me again. She quickly got up, and I saw a flash of pain and guilt in her face. I didn’t see her in her normal form again that morning, Arthur understood the urgency that I had presented, and we began our journey soon after that, where I was to lead him to my father- to his grave. But I had not forgotten last night, the image of Merlin’s suspicious face was in the front of my mind, I was trying not to let Morgana’s come in front of it, to put away the grazing of her cheek, the weight of her body against mine. It was too much to fathom for the moment. I knew I needed to put the whole thing in a box and lock it away, but like Pandora, my hunger, curiosity would soon have my fingers prying open the lid…

Despite the intensity of the situation, there remained some hint of mine and Arthur’s time together, he managed to lighten the mood, make me laugh, even, whilst keeping a keen eye out and a clear goal in mind.

“Gwaine! What is it?” Arthur shouted back to one of the knights who had stopped a minute ago and was trotting his horse to catch up with the group.  
“Nevermind, I thought I heard something.” Sir Gwaine shouted back, tossing his head so his thick hair caught the light. I normally wouldn’t pay attention to such things, but the man did like to show it off, and fair enough, really.  
“It was probably just the echo of your own incessant chatter.” Arthur remarked.  
There was a ripple of laughter amongst the knights, and I too let out a laugh. I noticed both Arthur and Hilda’s heads cock up at the sound.  
“You can always count on Sir Gwaine here to keep the conversation going- as long as you don’t mind which end the words are coming out of…” Arthur told me in a stage whisper, I laughed again, much to the indignation of Gwaine, who spent the next half hour detailing his fighting prowess, and particular talent at Wyvern-slaying, which Sir Elyan pointed out were just slightly pathetic dragons.

After a day of riding, we made camp in a clearing near a little stream. I had not been playing up my fear for my father very much- I kept it at the back of head so I could sort of forget the reason I was really there and enjoy the company until I could enact my plan. As a result, morale was quite high as we laid out heads on our bundles to sleep. I had tried to get Merlin alone, but he stuck close to the group and when he went up to get firewood, Hilda would not let me leave to help him. 

Despite what had transpired between me and Morgana the night before, I didn’t think she wouldn’t kill me, if it came down to it. I felt close to her, I trusted her, even. But I didn’t really suppose she loved me, or would care if I died. Yet at the same time, I would put my life in her hands, if anything just so I could feel her hold me.

I didn’t know what I was to do with my life anyway. My father currently existed in a liminal space between life and death- I had proof of neither and so I was neither just a princess nor a queen. I would have been ready to rule, as much as I had been expected to just marry into another kingdom, I had studied hard and was prepared to be a queen of Nemeth, I knew what kind I would be, though I knew it would be difficult.

But now I was in-between these two titles, two states, I felt I could maybe just slip between them. Morgana and I could be off somewhere, no concern for power, big castles and long sheets of parchment holding all the land you own scratched in black ink. Just two bodies, and their histories pouring out for each other to hear, and understand the other better. Did she yearn to know me as I did her?

IN THE MORNING I WOKE BEFORE THE SUN, TO HILDA’S FACE THIS TIME.

The others of the party lay strewn about the forest floor, around a dwindling fire.  
“Let us go and collect firewood.” Said Hilda, in her false croak.

We walked a little way from the party (past many dead and dry logs and branches) and eventually I looked up and it was Morgana’s face. She seemed very tired, from keeping us the spell through the night, I supposed.

Her hand brushed against mine, and she moved closer. I gently interlaced my fingers with hers as we walked deeper into the light, sparse wood.

“How are you? Did you sleep at all?” I asked quietly.  
She laughed softly, “Hardly. I can’t risk being seen, not yet.”  
I stiffened slightly at this reminder of what was to unfold.  
“How much longer will you be stringing everyone along then?” I asked cooly. She picked up my tone and the emotion was wiped from her face.  
“Not much longer. The cave is not far from here, maybe a few hours.”  
I stood back from her, retracting my hand and facing her, “And then what?” My voiced raised slightly, “Then what? I watch as you slaughter the King, and what of his men? Will I have to see them all die or will you kill me first?”  
She looked me sharply, her lips pursed.  
“Or will I be allowed to return to my home, alone and having lead Camelot to it’s death?” I felt angry again, how had I allowed myself to be so drawn in by her?  
“I keep my word. And do not think that Camelot would die, not with me as it’s queen. Your troubles would not go unrewarded.” She explained firmly.  
“How dare you?” I exclaimed, “ think that the guilt of my betrayal could be bought out that easily? That I was that shallow? That I would ever accept or support you, on a throne that you don’t belong on?”  
She looked shocked at my speech. My heart sank. She must have been thinking as I has been, imagining a world in which we were together, friends, but more than that. But that was only to exist in our minds. I had realised that, and now I saw it dawn on her too. I turned and began to walk away before I could see her get angry, see her hate me.

“You are weak. You are afraid.” She called after me. “I am strong and I will take what I know to be mine, and one day you too, will bow before me.”

“I’m strong enough.” I said, eyes fixed ahead.

I MADE MY WAY BACK TO THE CAMP, TAKING A SLIGHTLY DIFFERENT PATH, FOLLOWING THE LITTLE STREAM WHEN THE IDEA DAWNED ON ME.

I took a jagged stone, and carved into a flat rock, visible only if you bent down to the water, and carved in the name. Each letter carried so much weight, and I dragged the rock against the smooth face. In one moment I had both loved and hated her. She had been an angel to Camelot and then become a visious harpy, that circled it again and again, pecking off little lives, so fixated on getting in that I think she had forgotten what was actually inside, what it was she really wanted.

The party was stirring when I got back, and Merlin was standing, packing something or other. This was my chance.

“Oh hello Merlin. I’m terribly sorry to bother you but would you mind going to fill my water flask? It’s empty.” 

“Oh no worries, why don’t you take mine?” He offered up his own.

I widened my eyes and insisted, “Oh thank you, but I’d much rather have my own for the journey.”

He eyed me, puzzled and went on, “No really, you can just take mine, it’s no bother.”

I dropped the polite smile from my face and said firmly, “No. Please go and fill my flask up from the stream.” With one more perplexed and slightly disgruntled look, he took it and went off. He would understand soon, I told myself. He would see the name, he would realise and tell Arthur who would… do something… Would they kill her? No, they wouldn’t. They couldn’t. Morgana wasn’t someone you could simply kill and be done with, she was too relentless, too powerful.

SOME TIME PASSED, AND I WONDERED WHERE MERLIN WAS.

I was panicking, realising that Hilda had not returned either. Morgana must have found him. Then, he was brought back. Passed out cold, breathing strained. Morgana had found him. Sure enough, it was Hilda that professed to have found him. Arthur, Gwaine and Gaius crowded desperately around the small figure, my last hope, quashed. It was agony to see him like that, and to see the state of panic and sheer dread that Arthur was in. I looked to Morgana, and she stared back through her detestable mask. I looked at her with utmost contempt. 

The knights decided we would have to go on, and my ferocity was replaced by utter dread and hopelessness. This was it. I had lost.

I was barely living as I blindly took Arthur and his men to the tomb, driven by Morgana’s harsh grip. 

We were met with a crumbling stone doorway, a cavern opened up in a hill and strangled by thick moss and ivy. The doorway was a gaping mouth, so dark and cold, I dreaded what was inside. I turned back, Arthur was instructing his knights- his eyes were blazing with a fire of anticipation, alert like a hound. He turned his wild eyes to me, and instructed in a quiet and controlled voice, “You can stay outside here, one of my men will lead you away, we will come and get you when we have found your father.”

I was quick to answer, I knew I needed to be there. To see if my father really was there, but also because I didn’t deserve to escape this. Whatever fate lay inside for Arthur and his men, I owed them my presence- to help if I could or to face the horror of my own creation.

“No.” I replied curtly, then with more urgency, “I can show you the way- the tomb has many passages.”

He considered this a moment, then nodded and conceded, “You follow behind me, I trust you know the risk- if anything goes wrong, Sir Percival will take you out of the tomb to safety.” I nodded back, as did the tallest knight of the group.

We all took a collective breath, and filed into the narrow passage, Hilda just behind me.

THE DARKNESS OF THE TUNNEL DID NOT LAST LONG, AND SOON WE WERE WALKING TOWARDS THE FIERY ORANGE LIGHT OF TORCHES.

We entered the flickering room. A large stone coffin sat solitary and foreboding in the middle of the room, and across from it was Odin, sneering and the prey he has successfully lured into his trap. The room was lined with several threatening knights, and cowering in one corner a disheveled old man. It took a second to register, but as he raised his head I realised; “Father!” I stepped forward and cried out.

Odin gave a harsh cackle, “So, King Arthur of Camelot. At long last we meet again. For the final time, I think.”

He leered forward. Arthur stepped out to meet him, his eyes glazed over from the realisation. This was what he had journeyed towards, I had been but an instrument in his death. I had abused his good heart, killed his closest friend and now I had cowardly and pathetically led him to his own end.

“Release King Rodor. Your quarrel is not with him.” Arthur spoke clearly.

“Ah, well for that I ask a small return.” Replied Odin, drawing a gleaming sword from it’s sheath.”

Arthur drew himself up, took another step forward and spoke once more; “Release him.”

Odin gave a signal and my father was thrust towards us. I caught him with trembling hands, he looked up at me, mouthing wordless apologies. I shook my head, and looked back at the room. Arthur was now kneeling before Odin. “No!” I gave a stifled cry, painfully ashamed of my powerlessness.

“Would you not like to know who really brought you here?” He addressed Arthur again. On cue, from the other side of the room she emerged. The Lady Morgana. She had shed her conjured skin once more and the torch light hit her face, eyes alight with a a fierce excitement.

“Hello, dear brother.” She drawled. Something about Arthur seemed to have crumpled, and the rest of the room were frozen in fear. She weaved gracefully through our stone bodies, eyes fixed on her chosen object of hate. “I am glad,” she said slowly, “to finally see you on your knees. I will take my rightful place, as queen of Camelot, and you, Arthur- you will die.”. Her callous smile disappeared at these last words, and then just as Odin began to raise his sword to attack, and the knights of Camelot began to draw their swords and swing into action, the very walls began to trembling. The ceiling began to crumble and weapons were lowered as everyone scrambled to escape. Arthur barked at Sir Percival to get me and King Rodor out as he himself drew his sword and began fending off the knights coming towards him. Jagged rocks and dust were filling the room, yet before I turned to leave, one face was still visible. Her eyes were wide and mouth in an expression of abject despair and panic. Her eyes fell on my face, and her mouth closed slightly. In that look she conveyed everything. Her confusion, her mortification, and regret. I wanted to reach out to her, call out her name. I turned and ran out of the tomb.

BACK IN CAMELOT, MY FATHER WAS TENDED TO.

He was severely shaken, but he worried more about what had happened to me. I told very little, pressing him to tell me of his own trails and to rest.

My relief that they hadn’t been hurt- even Merlin returned safely- was strangles by the oppressive guilt of my betrayal.

“I understand, there was nothing you could have done.” Arthur insisted, “And what is important is that nobody got hurt.”

I shook my head, my eyes red and swollen, voice shaky, “I am so, so sorry for what I did to you. You could have died and I did nowhere near enough to try and prevent it. I will never be able to express my guilt enough.”

He dismissed this again, “Look, I, perhaps more than anyone, understand Morgana’s power.” He stared at me, with his earnest, blue eyes, “She has ways that deceive us all. She is merciless, and I do not blame you for this plot that is her design.”

He was right, she was merciless. She was cruel, and hateful, and so terrifyingly angry at the world. But she wasn’t dead, I knew that. We all did, her existence is something you feel in your bones. For some it is a creeping, looming fear. For me, I could not help but feel some sense of relief that she was still out there.

Out there still, was someone I shared something so strange, so intimate and so special with. I thought of her like some far off dream- I will not find her today, nor tomorrow, but each day, the picture of her swirls into my mind at some time or another, and I know that we will meet again. She has some peace left in her, and once again she will show it to me. 

I began this to defend my honour. Well, I have done a poor job of that. But this harbours something different. A possibility. A side of the both of us we didn't know we had. We will be together again, and perhaps, we will be free.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading :) This is it, for now.


End file.
